


this life has already killed me

by bbwrites



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Eating Disorders, Mental Health Issues, Misogyny, Pretentious Writing Style, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Wealth, canon-typical misogony, classism (implied), i guess, its more like setting study but w/e, lots n lots of run-ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbwrites/pseuds/bbwrites
Summary: "they have everything, but they always want more, a more they can never hope to define."





	this life has already killed me

**Author's Note:**

> this has been two months in the making :)))) love that writer's block!

Heather grows up on a tree-lined street full of perfect houses and perfect people. The street is full of people who yell at the help they don't need; help they only have because they _can_ , because they _want_. This street is a street of wanting, never needing. It's because wanting is so much more in-style, and nobody _ever_ wants to be off-trend, especially not here. 

The boys on the street grow up rough, feet pounding on pavement all hours of the day. Driving dad's luxury car while mom's pills work their way into their systems. These boys walk the hallways of Westerberg with their boy-bravado, something everyone else watches for from afar wishing that they could have something like that. They prowl at night because they own it; they own this blue-black paradise that no girl, not even _Heather_ , will ever savor. 

The girls grow up in pink and frills. When they grow older they lay out, long-legged and languid, in the summer sun. They wear their skirts short, flasks hidden underneath. The flasks filled with vodka bought by college boys who wolf-whistle and leer at them like their lives depend on it. They have everything, but they always want _more_ , a more they can never hope to define. The girls vibrate with an energy that has never been let out because to be a girl is to be soft, to be stationary. 

But not Heather. She wears red, hikes her skirts so high that they college boys can only drool. She uses daddy's credit card to slash at her hips because it's the only place that isn't seen without her wanting it to be seen. She forgets what it feels like to vomit naturally because she's too used to doing it herself. All she feels now is a sickness twisting around inside her, spitting venom and beating every emotion but rage back into the deepest parts of her mind. 

When she drinks the drano, she welcomes it because this street, this _life_ , has already killed her.


End file.
